The Fairies at Browning Grange

by Barrymore Tebbs

  I hugged the children and resisted all temptation of taking Olive in my arms. I badly longed to kiss her.

  “When can I see this Goblin Hollow?” I asked. “May I come again tomorrow?”

  “If you wish.”

  “Will you take me there?”

  There was that mischievous twinkle in her eye again.

  “I want to see them,” I said.

  “Of course you do. But you must remember what I said. Open your mind as well as your eyes, and you shall.”

  TWO

  Do you believe in fairies? Here in England, they have been an active part of our daily lives and consciousness for thousands of years. They have crept from beneath beds to frighten children and tormented travelers on the road at dusk. They have infested gardens and spoiled the milk in barns and smashed the crockery in kitchens. They have bewitched and bedeviled young lovers and drugged us and caused our sleep to be filled with fantastic dreams. They are the domain of the child’s imagination and the madman’s fantastic vision.

  That night as I lay awake in bed staring at the silver square of light where the moon shone across the wall, I didn’t know what to think. The children believed, of that I had no doubt. But if Olive were only using the lure of fairies to entice me into her web, then she had succeeded!

  When sleep at last overtook me, it was a light, restless slumber. I dreamed of Olive – a wildly passionate dream in which we lay together naked on the fragrant forest floor. Her eyes were glazed with ecstasy as I buried myself deep inside her.

  I woke with a start. My pajamas were plastered to my skin and I was nervous with excitement. I jumped up from the bed, my heart pounding. The full impact of what had happened this afternoon came home at last. What had she done to me there in the forest? It was as if I had been drugged. I certainly had been powerless to stop her. Had we both taken leave of our senses? The children were nearby and could have seen! My mind was a whirlwind of shame and anger. Had she purposely led me out there to seduce me? Did she make a habit of enticing virtuous men until she’d had her fun and then disposed of them?

  I padded barefoot into the moonlit kitchen and found an open bottle of wine in the cupboard. I poured a glass, but it was not enough to calm my racing mind. I upended the bottle and took several deep swallows directly from the neck.

  I sat there drinking until the wine made my head swirl, and my animosity toward Olive began to dissipate. I did not resent what had happened in the forest, but I was bewildered. She was a beautiful and singular person, which I found admirable in women in this day and age. But did she have any feelings for me at all? I longed to know, but my heart would be crushed if I came to find she did not. My thoughts were as tangled as the roots of the tree under which we had lain.

  I busied myself the following day, working in my studio preparing new prints. I had a contract with a publisher in London to reproduce some of my photographs in a book about this area of the country. The author was familiar with my work and had approached me with the possibility, and I was delighted when the publisher agreed. For an amateur photographer, the exposure this book would lend was without measure.

  The deadline was fast approaching and the time had come for me to buckle down and carefully package the prints to deliver to the post office. The work – and thoughts of the check I would soon receive – was a welcome distraction to my obsessive thoughts of fairies… and of Olive Gibbs.

  But by mid-afternoon I found I could no longer keep either from my mind. I gathered my camera and half a dozen films and made the journey up the road to Browning Grange.

  I left my bicycle with the boy in the garage and was greeted at the front of the house by Rupert, as stone-faced as ever.

  “Mr. Warrick to see Miss Gibbs,” I said.

  His eyes remained focused on the wall opposite me. How I would hate to live among servants such as this. “Have you an appointment? I was given no notice to prepare the parlor for tea.” His words were laced with cool contempt.

  “I was not expected for tea,” I said. “Miss Gibbs extended an open invitation to return at my leisure so that I might see this place called Goblin Hollow.” I held out the camera as if it were the magic ticket to grant me an audience with her.

  He did not look at the camera, but I detected an almost imperceptible tremor of one eyelid.

  “Have you been to the Hollow?”

  “I am far too busy seeing after the needs of the family. You will wait here.” With that he turned and sauntered up the stairs, as if it gave him great pleasure to make me wait as long as possible. The maids buzzed in and out of corridors like worker bees; not one glanced my way.

  Olive, when she appeared on the stairs, seemed surprised to see me.

  “You said that I could come again to visit Goblin Hollow.”

  She touched her hair. It was not nearly as extravagant as it was the day before, and her dress was plain, but she was beautiful nevertheless.

  “Quite right, but I had completely forgotten. Eleanor has taken a turn for the worse. I don’t know if the baby will come today, but I must stay with her. You understand.”

  I did, but it was difficult to hide the disappointment on my face. Her gaze softened, and she touched my fingers discreetly and led me down a shadowed hall. “I thought of you last night. I’m flattered that you came.”

  “I wanted to see the Hollow,” I said, but immediately regretted my words. It was Olive I wanted to see. Goblin Hollow could wait. The fairies would be there another day. She tilted her head toward mine until I felt her breath upon my lips. “Sweet John, of course you do. Perhaps I can persuade Miss Enfield to let Freddie be your guide today.”

  How I wanted to pull her against me in a wild embrace, but one of the staff could come along at any moment and it would not do to find Miss Gibbs in the embrace of a visitor to the house. “I should come another day.”

  “Nonsense. You came to see the Hollow, the Hollow you shall see.” She slipped her hand inside the crook of my elbow and guided me back into the main hall. I found myself alone and inconspicuous again when she went back up the stairs.

  Like a dog released to chase after a fox, Freddie came charging down the stairs. The jowly-faced bulldog trundled after him.

  A stern-faced woman appeared at the top of the stairs. Her shoulders were sharp and stiff, her hands clasped in front of her, her dress severe and her hair braided tight around her head. The antithesis of Olive Gibbs, this could only be Miss Enfield.

  “Be back in time for supper, Freddie,” Miss Enfield said. She eyed me from behind the balustrade. I waved, offering my friendliest smile. She lifted her chin and turned away.

  The dog followed us outside, but before we started down the terrace steps, Freddie turned and said, “No, Brunswick. You can’t go.”

  “Ruff,” said Brunswick with a twist of his head.

  “Brunswick, stay,” Freddie snapped at the dog. The poor fellow tucked his chin and slunk away.

  Freddie set a frantic pace across the meadow. I am in perfect health – I bicycle everywhere throughout the district, but even I had difficulty keeping pace with the boy. The sky was white and cloudless and the incredible heat from the sun made the journey to the forest quite unpleasant. I was drained and my shirt was stuck to my skin by the time we reached the other side of the meadow. I was grateful to at last reach the edge of the forest. Inside it was cool and dark.

  Even in the forest, Freddie sprinted effortlessly along the winding path. Of course he knew every exposed root and fallen limb by heart, but I was amazed nevertheless at the energy he exuded as he clambered and skipped and ducked and turned. More than once I had to call to him to wait while I caught my breath. His eyes danced merrily as if it were all a game, and before I had a chance to completely catch my breath, he giggled and was off again, leaving me to keep up as best I could or risk losing sight of him.

  Quite abruptly, the forest came to an end, and we stood on the edge of the hollow. It was just as Olive had described. It was a large basin-shap
ed hole some fifty feet in diameter, between ten or twelve feet deep.

  “Come on,” said Freddie breathlessly, and the boy scampered down a makeshift trail into the heart of the hollow. I followed, arms flung out so I would not lose my balance, the camera and satchel banging against my back.

  And then we were standing in the bottom of it. The walls of the hollow were hard packed earth, and the exposed roots little more than withered, dangling husks. I thought surely a meteor must have fallen to earth many thousands of years ago to create such a crater. The countryside here is rich with unusual land formations which have always attracted my photographer’s eye, but this was one of the most unique I had ever seen.

  There were mushrooms growing in the very bottom of it, and as I turned my gaze fully about me I realized they formed a complete and perfect circle.

  “How curious,” I said, “that these mushrooms would grow where nothing else will.”

  “They aren’t ordinary mushrooms,” said Freddie. “It’s a fairy circle.”

  “Of course,” I said. How I loved a child’s imagination. “May I take your picture inside it?”

  Freddie could barely contain his enthusiasm. I showed him where to sit inside the circle and how to look up at the sky. I didn’t have to tell him to gaze in wonder, for it came naturally. I walked to the side of the hollow and knelt down so the camera was at eye level with the boy and took the photograph.

  I took the film sheet out of the camera and replaced it with another from my satchel. “That should be quite charming,” I said, and went back to join him inside the circle. He seemed pleased and would be as excited about seeing the printed photograph as I. I tugged at the fob of my pocket watch, pulling it from my waistcoat and glanced at the time. It was a quarter till three.

  We sat there quietly, listening to the gentle rustling of the wind in the trees above the hollow. I didn’t mind waiting. I needed to rest from the arduous trek, but after a while I began to wonder how long I should have to wait for the fairies to make their appearance.

  The place felt like nothing more than a dry, lifeless pit to me. There was nothing of the sense of wonder I had experienced in the forest yesterday. Of course, that was mostly due to the expectations that had built up; that, and the surreal moment with Olive beneath the ancient oak.

  It was all a joke, wasn’t it? Flights of children’s fancy and a woman’s unbridled lust had conspired to make a fool of me.

  I looked down at my young friend. I have never seen such a peaceful look on a child’s face. Children’s faces show a wide range of emotion and one replaces another in the blink of an eye. Freddie’s face expressed nothing but bliss. It was as if he had transcended to another level of being.

  I began to grow sore from sitting on the uncomfortable ground. I shifted my weight. I squinted at the sky. We must have sat there for quite some time, as the sun had moved on into the west. I pulled the pocket watch from my waistcoat. Odd, it still read a quarter till three.

  “When do you suppose –” I began.

  “Shh,” said Freddie.

  I lowered my voice to a dramatic whisper. “Are any of them here?”

  “Shh,” he scolded again.

  I wound the watch and held it to my ear.

  “Well?” It was difficult to disguise my impatience.

  “There’s only one today.”

  “Show me,” I said.

  Freddie pointed straight ahead. I saw nothing but the dirt wall around the perimeter of the hollow. “Freddie, there’s nothing there.”

  “It’s gone.”

  I looked down at the boy, my mouth twisting with mild disgust.

  “It was there, I promise.”

  I could no longer hide the disappointment on my face.

  “It’s best to come at twilight.”

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s far too bright today. They don’t like to come out so much in the sunlight, and they are more difficult to see. If you come when the sun is setting, it is much easier to see them.”

  Why hadn’t he said this in the first place instead of dragging me all the way out here in the heat of the day when chances were slim that we would see any fairies?

  If indeed they existed.

  “Shall we wait?” I asked.

  Freddie rolled his eyes. “Don’t be silly. It won’t be dark for hours. I haven’t had my tea.”

  You can imagine my frustration, but it wouldn’t do to anger or tire the boy, so we set off back across the field, our journey much slower this time. Both of us were exhausted by the time we returned to the house.

  “I should like to go back to the hollow at twilight.”

  Freddie shook his head. “We’re not allowed to go past the garden after dark.”

  I patted his head. “I should think a little boy like you doesn’t always do as he’s told.”

  “Miss Enfield will box my ears if she finds out I’ve gone out,” he said, but his smile told me the seed I had planted had already begun to grow. “I’ll come out if I can. Otherwise, you’ll have to go alone.”

  Very well. Whatever happened, I would go to Goblin Hollow at sunset, accompanied or alone, and I would learn once and for all whether these fairies were real.

  When I went round to the garage to collect my bicycle I found the chauffeur napping in a chair, his head tilted back against the wall. His eyes snapped open when he heard my footsteps, but when he saw that I was alone he didn’t bother jumping to his feet.

  “I didn’t mean to wake you,” I said.

  “It’s quite all right, mate. Just off for a wee nap.”

  I ran my hand along the gleaming chrome of the Rolls Royce’s driving lamps. “This is quite a beautiful machine. What is it called?”

  “A Silver Ghost, sir.”

  “The name suits it well. Do you know how to drive it?”

  “Of course,” he said, as though I were a fool for asking.

  “And make the necessary repairs?”

  “Aye, sir. Been working on cars since I were a wee lad.”

  With a friendly proffered hand I told him my name and asked him his.

  “Mosely, sir.”

  “I meant your Christian name.”

  “Tom. Thomas, sir.”

  “Have you lived at the Grange long, Tom?” I asked. From his thick West Country dialect I suspected that he had.

  “Aye, sir. All my life. Born here and prob’ly die here as well. Me mum were in service, God rest her soul. She died last year.”

  Tom Mosely could not have been more than fourteen or fifteen, and his mother not much older than me when she died. I thought of the maids I had seen on their hands and knees inside the house and what a hardship it must be to live and die in service in a place such as this. I’m sure they were well looked after, but I couldn’t imagine the drudgery such a life would be.

  “Tell me, Tom. Have you ever been to Goblin Hollow?”

  “Oh, no, sir. I won’t go there.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Why, yer know. That’s where they be.”

  “The fairies?”

  He nodded.

  “Have you ever seen them?”

  “Once or twice. Not that I gone looking fer ‘em, mind yer. They be like a cat tha’ won’ leave yer be when they know yer don’t like ‘em. Annoyin’ little critters, they are. Mean and ugly as the day yer were born.”

  I was not surprised by his reaction. The uneducated have a tendency to believe in all manner of superstitions. But he was quite in earnest, so I pressed him further.

  “Are you frightened of them?”

  Tom puffed up his chest. “Not me, sir. Noffin’ frightens me. They knows best not to mess wit’ me. They keep away from the cars and the horses, I sees to that. Threw a hammer at one and a bucket a water on another. You should ha’ heard the caterwauling. Scream just like a cat when yer throws water on ‘em, they do.”

  I found it strange that he twice compared them to cats. Could it be that’s what they really were, so
me wild forest cat or other woodland creature that was overly aggressive when it came around people? That certainly provided a rational explanation for the ragged tear in Freddie’s butterfly net.

  But it would not explain the drawing Freddie had made. The thing he had drawn was very human, standing upright with two arms and two legs and a head… and two cat-like eyes.

  It was still several hours until sunset, but I saw no point in riding all the way back to the village only to turn around and return. Tom and I whiled away the hours in pleasant conversation like a pair of old chums. I told him about the camera and showed him how it worked, and knew I had won him over when I suggested I take his picture. At first he was self-conscious about his unkempt appearance, but I persuaded him to coast the Silver Ghost out into the yard where I took a photograph of him bent over the bonnet of the car, polish cloth in hand.

  He was apologetic when it was time for him to go in for supper. I said I didn’t mind waiting if he didn’t mind, and to my delight he returned a few minutes later with two plates holding a small meal for each of us.

  “I don’ mind eating out here, even in the summer when it’s hot. The women can be mighty noisy in the kitchen, all of ‘em chattering all at once.”

  I winked at him to indicate I understood.

  “What time does the family eat?”

  “Not until seven, usually. Although with Miss Conklin laid up in her bed they don’ sit down in the dining room proper.”

  “And the children?”

  “They eats when we do. Usually in the nursery or with Miss Enfield. Rupert takes the meals up to ‘em.”

  After we ate I walked back across the yard with Tom when he took the dishes into the house. My watch still read a quarter until three, but glancing up at the sky I estimated there was about two hours left until sunset.

  “If you see Master Freddie, would you discreetly tell him I’m outside?”

  Tom’s eyes searched mine; he did not know the meaning of the word. “Make sure no one overhears,” I said. Tom smiled and nodded.

  Tom returned a few minutes later and walked past me toward the garage and bobbed his head once as he passed. Within minutes, Freddie came sprinting out the door and waved for me to follow him.